Chapter 36
XXXVI
DAISY
They had spent the bank holiday in Devon, hoping the change of scenery might lift Callan’s mood, but nothing seemed to break through.
He remained lost, always drifting somewhere just out of reach, his mind far away.
She, too, found herself lost in thought, wondering about the story behind those silences, attempting to make sense of it all.
Whether he’d realised it or not, Ida’s growing energy only seemed to deepen the shadow of darkness around him.
She would flit about, babbling without a care, while Callan merely watched her, his eyes fixed, his face unreadable.
No smiles, no warmth—only that same cold distance that had begun to feel like the only part of him that remained.
A month later, Russell asked her to attend a three-day conference in New York, and she hesitated.
She’d never left Ida overnight before, and she and Callan’s mother had yet to truly speak about Callan’s suicide notes.
Though he’d seemed to worsen, it was as if they had agreed upon a code of silence, knowing that no amount of words would change their reality.
“You should go,” Callan’s mother said when she mentioned it. They were in the kitchen, Daisy dicing vegetables while Callan’s mother seasoned chicken drumsticks.
“I’ll be fine with both of them.”
She shot her a wary glance. “Are you sure? It’s three days.”
In truth, she felt selfish. Callan’s mother never got a break; she was with him twenty-four hours a day, and the idea of spending three days in the city that never slept, free of responsibility, felt indulgent.
“Daisy, go. I won’t be around forever. Without sounding morbid, you need to take these opportunities while you have the chance.”
Even as she stood at Heathrow, waiting for her flight, she felt a sense of unease, as though the future version of herself were screaming at her, trying to send telepathic warnings through the nausea churning in her stomach.
Due to a storm in the Atlantic, her flight had been delayed by a few hours. She tried to work, hunched over her laptop in the departure lounge, when she saw him two rows over.
“No way,” she whispered under her breath.
There he stood, clad in a pale-navy suit, his jacket draped neatly over the handle of his briefcase. He looked as if time had been kind to him, sparing every grace—while taking everything from her
She tried to look away, almost as if, by ignoring him, she could make him disappear. But it was too late; he’d already caught her staring.
He smirked with that infuriating, familiar expression, as though nothing between them had ever changed.
“Miss Daisy,” he called out, flashing a smile as he strolled towards her. “What a coincidence.”
“Logan, what a coincidence indeed.”
Her gaze shot to his ticket in his left hand, and it hit her; not only were they on the same flight, but they’d been seated in the same row. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humour.
“New York,” she said, gesturing towards it. “Please tell me you aren’t going to the conference, too.”
He bit his lip and grinned. “I take it Russell didn’t tell you then?”
She blinked hard. “Tell me what?”
“I work for the Men’s Health magazine now as a part-time columnist.”
She scowled, unsure if he was joking. He was far too overqualified to be writing articles, and it was difficult to picture him hunched over a desk, obsessing over the perfect mix of alliteration and metaphor.
Then again, he’d always said that if writing paid better, it would have been his career of choice.
“I suppose he left that information out.”
Suddenly, a laugh escaped his lips, and his smile relaxed. “I’m kidding,” he said. “I’m splitting my time between here and NYU until I make up my mind.”
“Your mind about what?”
“Whether I move there for good.”
Before she could respond, he slipped into the seat beside her, sparing him from revealing whatever look had crossed her face. Together, they sat in silence, watching the steady stream of travellers pass by.
“It’s been a while,” he said eventually, giving her a playful smile. “How’s Callan doing these days?”
“He’s…” Daisy paused. It would’ve been easy to lie, to say he was fine. But Logan would see straight through it. So instead, she said, “He’s trying. It’s been tough on all of us.”
“And Ida?” he asked. “She’ll be a little lady now?”
The fact that he remembered caught her off guard.
“Yes,” she said, her throat tightening. “In a few weeks, she’s five.”
“Off to school already? Wow.” He let out a low breath. “Time really flies.”
“It does.”
They sat there in silence—awkward, yet not uncomfortable—until he nudged her again.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Dare I say, Miss Daisy, I’ve missed you.”
She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the young woman who had drawn the short straw of sitting between them on that flight.
After excusing herself in the departure lounge, she went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face in a futile attempt to regain composure after the emotional chaos his presence had stirred. But when she returned, there she’d been—stuck beside him for seven long hours.
And, of course, he found the whole thing utterly amusing. Every so often, he’d glance at her with a smile that, on the surface, had looked innocent enough, though she’d known it to be anything but.
An hour in, he began passing her notes, as if they were a pair of high school sweethearts incapable of having a face-to-face conversation.
“Can you pass this to her?” he said to the girl, who hesitated as if unsure whether he was serious. She looked no older than a teenager, with blonde hair in loose plaits and a wiry frame hidden beneath an oversized khaki bomber jacket.
“Oh,” the girl murmured, handing the note to Daisy, bewilderedly. “This is for you.”
She rolled her eyes but read it anyway.
We should do dinner. Tonight?
She stared at it for a moment before scribbling a response in bold capital letters:
Not a chance.
Seconds later, another note arrived, much to the girl’s continued confusion.
Why not?
Because, she wrote, we aren’t friends.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to sit next to each other?” the girl asked, handing Logan the reply.
“No,” Daisy said firmly. “You can ignore him now.”
Yet another note followed.
If we aren’t friends, then what are we?
She pulled a face, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.
Not friends.
He rummaged through his bag, and Daisy struggled not to laugh when he pulled out a small, well-worn dictionary. He peeked at her over the top of it before sliding another note across.
The definition of ‘friends’ is a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations. Considering we aren’t family and haven’t shagged, I think it’s safe to say we are friends. Don’t you think? Therefore, dinner is perfectly acceptable.
She apologised to the girl once again, and, as if sensing the tension between them, she excused herself to the bathroom.
“Look what you’ve done,” Daisy hissed at him. “And why on Earth do you have a dictionary?”
He grinned. “Note to the wise. Always be prepared.”
“Prepared for what? A Scrabble tournament?”
“I sense judgment here,” he replied with a laugh. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you, when it comes to life, be prepared for everything and anything?”
After pausing to check the aisle, he unbuckled himself. “Since she so kindly offered to change seats, it would be rude not to.”
He moved beside her, and her heart began to race. She hated the hold he had on her, the hold he’d always had. No matter how far she ran, how much time passed, it never really loosened.
“We aren’t doing dinner,” she whispered. “I have a full itinerary.”
He let out a laugh, unconvinced. “Oh, come on, just one meal. It won’t kill you to be nice.”
“One dinner,” she relented. “That’s it.”